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June 12, 2009

Writers Workshop

Another week, another writers workshop courtesy of Mama Kat . The prompt I have chosen this week is:-

4.) Write a letter. I have decided to write a letter to my Dad, who passed away 16 October 1999.

Dear Dad

Well, it's been nearly 10 years since you left us. Or as you would say, flew the coup. Yes, you always had a way with words. Your sense of humour was the best part of you, the thing that everyone appreciated. It wasn't the only thing, though. You would do anything for anyone, you were the guy who would always help out.

The day you died, is etched in my brain as a bad memory. As soon as mum rang, I rang Cam to come home. I sat on the back steps in the sunshine with my dogs, not knowing exactly what to do next. Life was carrying on around me, people were coming and going from the motel behind our house. I could hear lawn mowers in the distance, people laughing and kids playing. But my world was crashing around me.

It felt like one of the two strings that held my heart together was broken. You and mum. The two most important people in my life. Now you were gone, the very thing that gave me life. I had never experienced anything like this before.

I had spoken to you on the phone two days prior and you were in hospital, resting. You were sick, but this was so unexpected. And what did you say to me: "I'll talk to you over the weekend, if I don't snuff it first". "DAD, don't say that". But that was you, shockingly funny, walking the thin line between good and bad taste.

Going home to your empty house was heartbreaking. Sorting your things made me cry. I wanted to take everything home with me. I needed to have these things to remember. I have your clothes, your favourite football scarf, your letters from your mum, your bikie leather jacket.

And I have the letter you wrote Phillip and I 26 years ago. We found it on the cupboard. I am amazed it was still there after all these years. I treasure it. You wrote about not providing us with alot because you were always working, trying to give us a good life. Well, you did give us a good life. I only have happy memories of growing up, and we had everything we needed. I don't mean material posessions, but love, warmth and comfort, and safety. What more could we ask for. You did good. I am proud of you.

The day after sorting your things, I was so upset, I didn't know where to turn. I drove to the cathedral and sat in the back, and sobbed. I felt peace.

I wonder were you looking down at everyone during your service. Did you get a laugh when we played all your favourite music by The Shadows? You didn't want depressing organ songs, I know that for a fact. And what about the bikies that came out of the woodwork to pay their respects, then left quietly when the service was over. They wore their colours. That still amazes me now.

I remember going home to mums that night, and in the stillness of my room pleaded with you to give me a sign that you were near. A moving curtain, or a light flickering. But there was nothing.

I still do believe you are somewhere, stiring up trouble and telling jokes and annoying the crap out of someone else. I hope to see you again someday. I have the tape of you singing and I play it - only occasionally because it breaks my heart to hear it, but at the same time reminds me of your voice.

I think you would be proud of me. I wish you could have met your grandchildren. They are so beautiful, and every so often your grandson does something and it reminds me of you. I wish you could have visited us here. I wish you had more in your life, you struggled towards the end. At times, life was hard for you. Certain things happened that nearly broke you.

But you had your sense of humour, your positive attitude and your headstrong loyalty to your family and friends that gave you your identity. I hope wherever you are, the beer is cold, the football is on, the sun is shining and you have your pets around.

BTW my St George is on the top of the footy ladder. I just have to rub that one in........